A Decent Proposal
by imWITCHIN
Summary: Kurt looks back at the years leading up to where he and Blaine are now; the time apart and the time together and the things that made them realize that together, they were just better. FUTUREfic


**I don't own Glee, but it would probably make paying for gas easier if I did. **

**Told from Kurt's POV.**

A Decent Proposal

It started with a smile.

I knew he was going to do it soon. I knew it from the minute he got back from work with that ridiculously dopey smile on his face. That smile was preserved for very rare moments of unrestricted happiness, and it was one of the things I had missed most when we were apart. I looked up at him from where I sat, cross-legged on the floor, organizing books on the bottom shelf of the new bookcase, and received a kiss squarely on my temple. Unrestrained displays of affection without any sort of invitation? Something was definitely going on.

"What's up?" I asked, grinning after him as he practically skipped into the kitchen for his afternoon cup of coffee. After starting the coffee maker, he jogged up the open-air stairs to the "bedroom" portion of our loft apartment to change out of his suit and tie.

"I just had a really spectacular day, that's all! Haven't you noticed how great the weather is today? And I dropped a piece of my newspaper on the subway, and someone actually went _out of her way_ to hand it back to me. Can you imagine? Kindness! On the subway!" I chuckled, listening to him struggle to remove and put on clothes while telling his story. I love how in the apartment we can be together no matter where we are within it. It's not very large, and certainly not as glamorous I always imagined living in a New York City loft apartment would be, but it's open and airy, and always full of light. Not to mention, quite the steal for its neighborhood. After spending most of my childhood in a basement in Ohio alone, living in the loft with Blaine was like being able to breathe freely for the first time.

If someone had told my sixteen year old self that in eight years I would be living in New York City, working as one of the fashion directors at GQ Magazine and living with my high school sweetheart I would have recommended you go see your crack dealer and order him to cut you off. I mean, don't get me wrong, the journey had not been spotless. I'd endured four nerve-crunching years at NYU, followed by two _grueling_ years at Parson's New School for Design and one more as a penniless intern for Tom Ford. It had been rough, and messy, and so worth it.

_Looking Back – 4 Years Ago_

It was May of our senior year at NYU, and we'd been together for five years. Our friends from school knew us as "KurtandBlaine" instead of as our separate selves, because none of them had known a time when we weren't together- except Rachel, that is. But now we were graduating for the second time in our relationship, and this time staying together seemed like an impossibility. I was staying in New York to study at Parson's, and Blaine was going to Italy to study art history. I, stupidly, had encouraged it. But that's what you're supposed to for your best friend, for someone you love.

And so he left, and we promised to write. And we promised to never forget each other. We also promised to move on and see other people; we just never said it out loud. The letters became less and less frequent, and eventually even the e-mails stopped coming. For a long time, I didn't even think I missed him; until I realized that I purposefully filled every hour of my day in order to never give myself _time_ to miss him. I was determined to get on with my life. We had been infatuated children! People don't find their soul mates in high school, and certainly not in their first relationship. I kept telling myself that we were destined to grow out of each other eventually, and breaking up when we did had saved us both the pain of slowly falling apart.

_Looking Back – 3 Years Ago_

It started with coffee.

Wallace was a great boyfriend. He was very different from most gay men I had met and befriended; in fact, my first impression of him had not given me the impression that he was gay at all, until he asked me out, that is. I'd met him one day while getting coffee at the shop where he worked after a long, infuriating day at Parson's. He was small- shorter than me by more than four inches-, pale, had dark auburn hair that was always in a shaggy mess, and a plethora of freckles on the bridge of his nose. He got off five minutes after I sat down and just walked straight up to the table I was sitting at and asked me out. The act of doing so seemed to scare him half to death, and when we eventually went out he was incredibly shy, blushing and laughing under his breath the whole time. He got more and more open as we went out more, but confidence was never his strong suit.

We didn't have a lot in common, Wallace and I. He was a hard-core vegan, he hated to be even playfully teased, and knew hardly any show tunes. He wore basically the same outfit of dark skinny jeans, a v-neck tee shirt, and converse every day, and he couldn't name a Barbra Streisand movie if his life depended on it. Also, he hated coffee, even though he worked at a coffee shop; something that always struck me as funny, but never him. Looking back, sometimes even I am amazed that we lasted as long as we did. He was the opposite of everything I had gotten used to after over five years with the same person, but he was full of new experiences. He taught me how to cook hundreds of foods without using a single animal, and took me on trips that involved one-on-one time with nature- trips I actually enjoyed! But something just always felt _off_ about our relationship, and it killed me that I couldn't figure out what it was.

We'd been bickering endlessly for the past month the day we broke up. He came home from his job at the coffee shop to the dinky, dark apartment in one of the more run-down neighborhoods that was technically his, but was where I tended to spend most of my time. I'd been there for hours, working on sketches for class, and was making a pot of fresh coffee. He stormed in, already angry, and began swearing frenziedly about how he hated that he had to come home to coffee smell after working around it for hours. I tried to calm him down but our anger just seemed to feed off of each other's and after a few minutes of screaming, I heard the pot of steaming coffee smash against the cabinet directly to the left of my head. Burning, bitter liquid was scalding my face and was splattered all over my beloved clothes. I looked up at him, torn between shock and fury, and he looked just as surprised as I did. Before he had the chance to speak, I had grabbed all my clothes out of the closet and was out the door.

It ended with coffee.

_Looking Back – 1 Year and 5 Months Ago_

Life hit a comfortable rhythm after awhile. I got an internship with Tom Ford, and spent most of my waking hours at the office; running errands and just watching the masters work. I went on a few random dates after the breakup with Wallace. Most of them were people Rachel met on her _endless_ string of auditions. All the young, well toned, musically inclined, gay actors started to run together in my mind after awhile and unlike with Wallace, we were almost _too_ similar. Every date was as if I was going out with a high-school version of myself; young, dough-faced, and dramatic, with dreams of the big time and a constant thirst for the spotlight. They were slightly depressing and boring after awhile, but it comforted Rachel for me to go along with it, and I needed _something_ to do on Friday nights.

It was a Friday night when I went out with Antony; he was tall, thin, tan, Italian, and auditioning for a role in Jersey Boys. I don't remember knowing, learning, or ever caring about anything else about him. We went for drinks, and at one point during the evening he asked me if I knew what the date was. Pulling out my phone as we laughed politely about how freaking funny it was neither of us could remember the date, I saw **November 9, 2018** shining at me from the bright screen. November 9th. Why did that day ring all sorts of bells in my head?

Anthony took me back to my apartment that night. It was a tiny little thing that I shared with Rachel, at the top of four flights of steps. He leaned in for a goodbye kiss, and at the last minute I moved my head to the left, letting his lips graze my cheek. All I could think was that, for _some_ reason, we should not be kissing on November 9th. I wished him goodnight and never saw him again. Not even when he got the job on Jersey Boys.

When I walked into the living room where Rachel was watching TV and sat down on the couch with her, she smiled at me hopefully.

"Soooo…? How'd it go?"

"What?" I pulled myself of the tracks of my own train of thought. "Oh, ya know, the same. Rachel, did we ever do something important on November 9th? Like, did New Directions win something that day? Maybe we did a special performance? Is it someone's birthday?" I looked at her expectantly. If something important happened on this day concerning New Directions, Rachel would know.

"Um, no, not that I can remember. We wouldn't have had a competition this early in the year anyway. Why?" She looked at me curiously. It must be showing just how much this was actually bothering me.

"No reason," I said, sighing and settling in next to her. "What are we watching?"

"E! News. There's not much on, and the commercial said they were doing some sort of special on Katy Perry's new baby next, so I thought I'd watch."

Katy Perry. November 9th had something to do with Katy Perry, I just knew it. But what?

"Rachel. Katy Perry. Name some of her songs."

"What?"

"Her songs! Name some!"

"Ok um, Firework? I Kissed a Girl? E.T.? Hot 'N' Cold? Teenage Drea-"

"That's it!" I was standing now. I'd figured it out. November 9th. That was the day I went to Dalton Academy for the first time. That was the day I saw the Warblers perform Katy Perry's hit song, Teenage Dream. That was the day I met Blaine.

"Rachel, I'm um…going to bed." I suddenly had the urgent need to be alone. She kissed me goodnight and I gliding into my tiny bedroom, sat down on the bed, and pulled out my phone. I needed to talk to him. Just hear his voice. There was something in me that just knew that at that moment I wanted to be in contact with Blaine Anderson. I looked at my watch; 12:30am. That meant it was 7:30 am in Rome. Blaine was a morning person, he would be up by then. And then, without even thinking about all the reasons why I shouldn't, I dialed his number.

I didn't regret calling him. It was great to hear his voice again; to hear him talk about his work in Italy, and all of the things he'd learned or seen that he had wanted to share with me but had been too scared that I didn't want to hear from him ever again and so he hadn't. It was great to have someone genuinely get excited for me about my internship and my time Parson's. It was great to have my best friend back again. He was the first one to even hint around the question that hung on the wire between us.

"So, are you living alone?"

"No," I said laughing a little.

"Oh, well, congratulations I suppose," he said with a hint of feigned mirth in his tone.

"What? Oh!" I said, realization hitting me, finally. "No! No not like that. I mean, I was, awhile ago. I'm living with Rachel now." He chuckled.

"Wow, if you believed in God, I'd tell you to pray for patience." I laughed at his poke at Rachel.

"She's mellowed a lot since school ended. I think being rejected by so many different people over and over again may have done her a little good." He laughed a little and said something else about Rachel and how much he missed her. "So what about you?" I asked. "Are you living alone?" There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"If you had called a few hours ago the answer would have been yes." I froze. If there had been an answer I was anticipating, that was not it.

"Oh…oh my gosh. Blaine I- I'm so sorry." What do you say?

"No don't be! It was really…well, it was overdue. Italians; there's no one else like 'em." And he didn't seem to want to talk about it anymore. We talked for almost three hours, until Blaine realized that while it was late morning there, it was easing into daybreak in New York and told me it was time I got some sleep.

We said goodbye and promised to talk again very soon. As I hung up my phone and dropped it down on my bed, I sat there with my head in my hands, crying quietly to myself. How was it possible that after all this time, after all the changes and all the different people that walked in and out of my life, I was still as utterly in love with him as before?

_Looking Back – 1 Year Ago_

I was having truly horrific day. It had all started when one of Rachel's incredibly unstable actress-friends came over after getting a call that she had been rejected from yet _another _off-Broadway production. After we convinced her that becoming a stripper was _not_ the only viable solution left, Rachel sat up and comforted that bitch ALL NIGHT. At work, running on less than two hours of sleep and a weak cup of coffee, I'd been sent all over the city tracking down some suit that had been worn by someone somewhere and needed to be returned. On my way home from work, I'd stepped in a pile of city mud and soiled my entire left side from the knee, down. The subway was crowded and smelled awful and as I stood in the middle, holding a pole, left leg still muddy and dripping, the train broke down and we were stuck on it for thirty extra minutes.

I stormed into the apartment, ripping off my clothes, and threw on sweatpants and an old McKinley High football team t-shirt. After treating my damaged pants, I flopped down on the couch, ready to go into a vegetative state so that nothing else could possibly go wrong. As I watched the last few minutes of an Oprah rerun, my stomach started making infernal gurgling noises, moaning for nourishment. I went to the cabinets and, looking inside, moaned to myself. Everything Rachel bought was _organic _and _vegan_ and _whole grain. _Usually I loved that, foods like that gave you a nice figure and healthy skin. But not that day. That day I wanted grease and fat and _meat._ I managed to find a menu for a pizza parlor just down the block that I'd hidden from Rachel for times such as those. After ordering the biggest, most topping-loaded, greasiest pizza I could possibly eat, I sat back down on the couch and checked my phone for the first time in hours.

The only message on the screen read 'VOICEMAIL- BLAINE'. I smiled. It was so nice being able to talk to him again, and over the past few months he'd been one of my few sources of comfort. When it came down to it, in the breakup I had lost my best friend, and getting at least that part of him back made the pain of unrequited love burn just that much less. I clicked on the message.

_ "Hey, Kurt. It's me. I don't- um- I don't know if you realized what day it is tomorrow. In case you didn't it's, well, it's March 15__th__."_ My heart stopped for a split-second. It was March 15th. Our anniversary. He had remembered our old anniversary; and he had called. "_I just wanted to call and say… Damn, this is actually harder to communicate than I thought it was going to be. I just wanted to say…Dammit Kurt, there is a moment." _ Oh sweet lord. He wasn't. "_When you say to yourself, 'Oh! There you are! I've been looking for you forever.'" _ He was. "_I know that I've used that line before," _he laughed,_ "but…but Kurt…*_long pause*_I need to see you. I need to see you and I need to talk to you and I need t-" _The message cut off. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my ears. He needed to see me, and talk to me, and- what else? I looked at the time on the message; it had come yesterday but my phone, ancient and spotty as it was, had just gotten it. I needed to call him back, find out what he meant, tell him how I felt.

Just then the buzzer rang and I walked to the keypad, unlocking the door downstairs for the pizza man. My head still full of Blaine- Blaine wanting to talk to me, wanting to tell me something important- I opened the front door a crack and ran around the room, grabbing money wherever it was lying. As I heard heavy footsteps approach the door, I still had my back to it, digging in one of Rachel's many purses for some spare quarters.

"Just a minute, I'll be right there. I need change…"

"Actually," I heard a smooth, deep voice say, "I do too." Rachel's purse fell to the floor with a clunk, and spare change scattered all over the floor. Was my heart beating? Was I breathing? Had I passed out; was this some sort of drug-induced dream? No.

"Blaine-" My voice was embarrassingly high pitched and breathy and my brain had suddenly become very cloudy, but I was sure it was him. He was tan and he looked much worse for the wear than since I had seen him last, getting onto the plane to Rome. His normally perfectly gelled hair was a curly mess, and his usually perfectly shaven face sported what looked like days of unattended scruff. He was smiling underneath it, but his eyes were fixed on mine. They were tragic and glassy, with red patches from what I guess must have been lack of sleep.

"Hi Kurt." His voice cracked on my name and his face was steadily reddening, but his gaze never left mine.

"Did you come from-?"

"Italy? Yeah." He took a couple steps in the door. "I needed to tell you something…something important. I need you to know," he swallowed, "that you still move me, Kurt." His smile, genuine this time, met his eyes as fat drops of water left them. I choked on a soggy laugh. "And I have spent all these years living in the most beautiful and romantic city imaginable trying to make myself feel a _fraction _as happy I was when I was lying on a dirty dorm room bed with _you._" He stood right in front of me, holding me there with his gaze. "I've tried other people. You have too. And maybe this is absolutely ludicrous and wrong but all I know is that nobody gets me like you do. You're my best friend." I was cradling his face in my hands pushing tears off his cheeks. "Just tell me, right now. Kurt, can we please be in love again?"

I didn't know what to say. Words would have sounded stupid anyway. So I kissed him, soft and slow, gentle. It wasn't sexy, or needy, it was assurance. It was a promise that though things might change, that everything _had_ changed, that _this_ would never change; _this_ would be sacred. I don't know how all of that was communicated in a kiss, but Blaine seemed to understand.

"Never go away again," I whispered, still holding him very close.

"Never. Not without you." I could hardly hear him say it, his face was buried in my shoulder, arms holding my midsection so tight as if I would literally slip out of his grasp at any minute. He pulled back and held my chin with one hand. "Happy Anniversary."

When Rachel came home that night to see Blaine, scantily dressed in nothing but grey boxer-briefs and a layer of chin scruff, making himself a pot of coffee in her kitchen, she freaked. She flung herself at him and held him in a bear hug, crying uncontrollably about how he didn't call or send pictures or answer her letters. The two stayed up late talking while they thought I lay in bed asleep; but I was really just lying there listening to them, crying silent tears of happiness to have the two people I loved so much both back in my, and each other's, lives again.

"So you're staying? You're not going back to Italy?" Rachel asked, quietly.

"I've applied for a job at The Cloisters. But even if I don't get it I- I'm never leaving. I won't leave him again."

"Why did you decide you wanted to come back?"

"Look, it's not as if I couldn't live without him, or vice versa. But why deny myself the only thing that's ever made me feel unadulterated happiness? Does- do you know if- he feels the same way?"

"Well, he was with this one guy for awhile; Wallace." She went on to tell him about my ex-boyfriend, about our differences and fights. "It was like Kurt was always trying to make sure he didn't say the wrong thing or act the wrong way. They were never _easy_ around each other, like you were."

"So what happened?" Blaine pushed. "To end it, I mean."

"Evidently Wallace threw a pot of coffee at Kurt's head." Blaine made a noise that communicated disbelief. "What about you?" Rachel asked. "Kurt said you had been living with someone?"

"Oh. Yeah. Lucca. Three months after we moved in together I found out he was sleeping with an artist I was working with. But we'd been fighting for ages. Italian men are just so…so… _permaloso_.

"Hmm?"

"_Permaloso,_" He said again. "Touchy." They laughed. "And we were never at ease either. I thought we would get there, but we just never did. He had to be supported emotionally _all the time_ and had almost no confidence in himself. I never realized how much I needed Kurt's strength until I was with someone so incredibly weak."

My heart swelled. It was exactly the same thing I had missed about being with him, the strength of the whole to be two complete and separate parts. Blaine was still Blaine without Kurt. Kurt was still Kurt without Blaine. KurtandBlaine was just better.

Awhile later, Rachel wished Blaine goodnight and he came back into my room and crawled into bed beside me, held me around the waist, and buried his face against the back of my neck.

"I missed your strength too," I whispered, just low enough that he could have pretended not to hear me if he had wanted to.

"I thought you were asleep," he said, and I could hear the teasing tone in his voice. I turned over so that we were face to face. He was smiling at me, sleep threatening to close his eyes at any moment.

"I missed you," I sighed as our foreheads rested against each other.

"You can't even imagine…how much I missed you…" And with that he was gone.

_Looking Back - 10 Months Ago_

The two months after Blaine came back were some of the best memories I think I'll ever have of New York. We spent all the spare time we had between my new job at GQ and Blaine's new job at The Cloisters hunting for an apartment. Rachel's, it had been decided, was simply too small for all three of us. Also, we didn't say it out loud, but we were tired of having to being quiet _at night_. Blaine and I took every possible means of transportation over every inch of the city, searching for the perfect apartment. For the first time in our adult lives we both had the means and the money to live the lifestyle we wanted to in the greatest city on earth. Blaine, still fresh off of a three year stint in Rome, found haven in tiny things such as air conditioning, an ice maker, or pressurized water in the shower, so it was usually left to me to delve deep into the nooks and crannies of apartments. I didn't mind.

Then, after two months and countless apartments, we found it. On the edges of the meat-packing district our loft stood waiting for us. A week after we saw it, we kissed Rachel goodbye and moved in. We loved the way we could talk to each other from anywhere inside, but could still go out on the tiny balcony or the apartment courtyard for privacy. We loved how much natural light it got during the day but at the same time the city lights didn't glare at you in the night. Most of all we loved that it was _ours,_ and only ours. It was perfect.

_Present Day_

He jogged back down the stairs wearing his favorite pair of worn dark jeans, soft and loose after so many washes, and a blue cotton t-shirt, and poured two cups of coffee. After handing me mine, he sat cross-legged on the floor beside me and started putting more books on the shelf. We talked more about his wonderful day and the excitement I was feeling after learning, earlier that day, that I was going to get to plan the outfits for a photo shoot with some young TV star all on my own. He agreed with me that plaid blazers were _totally_ back in.

"So what do you want for dinner?" he asked, stacking all of the Harry Potter series in a neat row directly beside the Jane Austen novels.

"Hmmm, I don't know. I'm kind of in the mood for take out," I said, picking the Harry Potter books off the shelf and putting them back on in the 'fantasy' section of the bookcase. He nodded, smiled and went to call, never asking what I wanted. When he came to sit back down and offered more "help" I nudged him playfully. "You know my take-out order?"

"Of course I do…" He nudged back, but instead of immediately drawing away as I had done, he attached his lips to my neck, leaving soft kisses up and down it.

"Blaine!" I giggled and pushed him away. "Not on an empty stomach, " I teased, handing him more books to put away as he laughed it off, stacking them out of order just to get back at me.

Later that night, as we curled up on the couch, the remnants of take-out strewn across the coffee table, his head rested on my chest and I twirled his loosened curls around my finger.

"You know what I hate?" I said. My tone was quite soft, not malicious, so he could tell what was coming next was probably going to be a joke.

"Hmm?"

"I hate that when Katie, the new girl at work, saw your picture in my wallet, I had to refer to you as my 'boyfriend'." His eyes flew open.

"Excuse me?" he said, his tone evidently conveying just how taken aback he really was.

"Noooo," I sighed, "not like that. I mean, I hate that there isn't another word for what we are. You're more than my boyfriend, Blaine. You're it. The one. My other half. All that stuff."

He chuckled. "And you can't just introduce me to everyone as Your Heart's One True Desire?"

"I could," I said, playing along, "but straight people look at me _so funny_ when I do that." We laughed together, and I loved the feeling the vibrations I got from his laughter on my chest.

"Kurt…Kurt…Kurt wake up…" I heard his voice through what seemed like a heavy fog in my brain.

"Mmmm, Blaine, what's wrong? Are ok you?" I opened my eyes with difficulty, searching for him in the darkness and the mess of blankets. After a moment my eyes adjusted and I found him lying on his side, looking directly at me, smiling.

"Kurt, look at the clock." I looked. **12:01 am. **I looked back at Blaine. "Do you know what today is?" he asked, reaching for my hand and entwining our fingers together. I thought for a second, the mind-fog slowly clearing. What day was it? Yesterday had been March 14th so that must mean today was… I smiled at him, realization hitting me.

"March 15th," I said, leaning in and kissing him softly.

"You know, you were talking earlier about how you hate having to refer to me as your boyfriend, and it gave me an idea." He released my hand. "How about," he said, reaching over me to the bedside table and grabbing something out of the drawer before bring his arm back down between us, something clutched in his hand, "you call me something else?" He opened his hand to reveal a tiny, bright blue box, with the words Tiffany and Co. in miniscule writing on the top. I stopped breathing. "Something along the lines of," he opened the blue box to reveal an even smaller, black velvet box inside. He opened it. "…husband." I looked up at him, words seeming to die in my throat.

Inside the box was the most beautiful ring I'd ever seen. It was thin, white gold with an engraving of a single word; 'Courage'. I kept looking from the ring to him, still unable to speak. "Kurt Hummel," he said, placing the ring on my left ring finger, "with this ring, I promise to be there for you whenever and wherever you need me." He held my hand in between both of his. "I promise to chase away every bug that dares come into this apartment. I promise to wear only what is approved by you, even if I think I can't pull it off. I promise to make your coffee the right way, and if I can't, I promise to make you tea. I promise to listen when you sing, to sing along with you, and when you can't sing, I promise to sing _to_ you. I promise to never leave you, ever, EVER, again. I promise to love you, and _only___you, as much as I do at this moment for the rest of my life. And longer, if I can. With or without the law."

At some point I must have started crying, because his hands had moved to my face and were wiping at my cheeks. "Screw the law, Blaine. You're all the husband I'll ever want." I kissed him, strong and surely, holding him against me so I could feel his heart beat; so I could be sure I wasn't still fast asleep and this was just some wonderful dream. "But I am a little miffed with you," I said, smiling.

"What?" he said, obviously confused. "Why?"

"Because," I said, reaching under the bed, searing for the tiny black box I had hidden under it. Grabbing it, I rolled back to face Blaine, grinning. "You beat me to the punch." Blaine looked at me with eyes wide, glancing back and forth from my face to the box in my hand, now open, with a wide, flat, white gold band inside. Engraved on it was the same word; 'Courage'. "Blaine Anderson," I said sliding the ring onto his finger, "with this ring, I promise to be there for you whenever and wherever you need me." I held his hand with one of my own, the other reaching for his hair. "I promise to cut you off after three cups of coffee in the morning. I promise to never hide your hair gel, no matter how much I might want to. I promise to go to every gallery opening, holiday gala, and exhibit display that you may be invited to, and look _fabulous_ doing so, so that you're proud to have me on your arm. I promise to sing to you, and with you, and about you. I promise never to let you leave me _ever_ again. And most of all," I said, my hand tightening in his hair, "I promise to love you, and _only_ you, as much as I do at this moment, for the rest of my life."

And then we were kissing, and it was like no other kiss we'd ever had before. No one else in the world mattered; nothing else was real- not the breakup, not Wallace, not Lucca, not even the law- only us. And then we finally broke apart, looking at each other, grinning like fools.

"Happy Anniversary." I said, refusing to let go of my hold around his neck.

"Happy Anniversary."

And there was a smile.

But it didn't end.

**A/N – Please review! I know it might not look like it but this actually took me quite a while to write compared to how long I usually do. I know it requires a lot of filling in moments with your own imagination but I hope you all are as into that as I am **


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